


Charity Auction: Hutch for Sale

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:10:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk





	Charity Auction: Hutch for Sale

Charity Auction: Hutch for Sale

  


“And the bidding starts at ten dollars, ten dollars ladies, for this lovely man to do two hours of…something. I’m sure you can find something for him to do around the house for two hours, only ten dollars. Can I get a bid? There we go. Ten dollar dollar, ten can I get twenty? Twenty! There you go miss, yes, I see you. No need to wave!”

Starsky stood back and grinned. Hutch, standing by the auctioneer, was starting to look decidedly uncomfortable. The auctioneer was all grins and smooth talk, but he was good—the bidding rose exponentially, up to fifty, seventy, a hundred. A lot of women had shown up for this charity auction stunt, and a surprising number of them were bidding on Hutch.

“Hundred and fifty!” screamed one lady, jumping to her feet and waving a handful of cash.

Starsky snorted into his arm. He’d told Hutch this was a bad idea.

“Don’t be silly, Starsk. It’s for charity. The least I can do.”

“No, the least you can do is stand in the back and watch, like me!”

Hutch had given one of his patented disapproving, slightly superior looks. But who was laughing now? Not Hutch!

“Two hundred. Can I hear two hundred? Only two hundred dollars for two hours of this fine gentleman’s time. Tall, blond, and athletic. Look at those muscles, ladies and gents. He must be good for something!” The auctioneer actually reached over and squeezed Hutch’s bicep.

A couple of squeals from some of the more wound-up females in the audience; a couple of leering laughs from some of the men.

By now, Hutch was blushing fiercely, the tell-tale red creeping up his neck and face, impossible to hide on his light complexion. He looked like he wanted to disappear.

All right, this had gone far enough.

Starsky stepped forward, raising one hand and putting the other to his mouth. He gave a sharp, piercing whistle through two fingers. “Hey! Three hundred! Over here!”

Everyone looked at him—including Hutch. Starsky ignored the snickers and leering jibes from the audience, and focused on his partner. Hutch looked ridiculously relieved.

“Er…okay, ladies and gentlemen, we have a bid for three hundred. Can I get three hundred and ten? Three ten, anyone? Just three ten…”

The auctioneer looked around the room. No one answered, or raising even a finger. Even the most intense-looking of the female bidders didn’t raise a hand. Starsky was glaring around the room—daring someone to respond.

“You, ma’am?” The auctioneer pointed.

The lady glanced at Starsky, and shook her head.

“Don’t let him scare you, ma’am.” (Laughter from the audience—slightly unnerved laughter.) “He’s a real pussycat. Come on. Three ten, can I get three ten, anyone? No? Well, the gavel’s coming down, folks. Three ten three ten three ten, going three hundred ten… Sold!” The gavel came down. “For three hundred dollars. Come on up here and collect your winnings. Don’t forget to pay!”

Starsky shouldered his way through the crowd and sauntered up to his partner, looking all around with his best intimidating expression.

“Thanks, buddy, I owe you one,” whispered Hutch, as they walked off the stage.

“You owe me three hundred,” whispered Starsky. He gave the pay lady a smile, slightly pained, as he counted out the cash. He was going to be pretty short until Hutch paid him back.

“You got it.” Hutch gave him a pat on the side, and ducked out the exit, looking very relieved to be off the stage.

Starsky, waiting for his receipt, cast a speculative look after him, and suddenly grinned.

“Hey, Hutch.” He bounded after his partner, pocketing the folded slip of paper.

“Yeah?” Hutch slid behind the wheel of his LTD, and glanced casually at Starsky.

“Guess you didn’t realize you were such hot property, huh?” He slid into the grubby passenger’s side.

“I’m fine with being hot property. I don’t like being treated like cattle up for auction.”

“Bull.”

“What?” Hutch turned to blink at him. “If I say I don’t like it—”

“No, Hutch. Bull. You don’t like bein’ treated like a bull up for auction.”

“Oh. Right.” He turned the wheel, sliding the car out the drive and onto the road.

“Huuuutch?”

“What? You want ice cream or something? I’ll get it for you. I owe you.”

“I know you do. ‘Cuz, even when you pay me back—I hadda pay outta pocket, you know, and I’ll be short till you cough up the cash, an’ even then, why, I still hadda stand up like that an’ stare everybody down, to protect your honor.”

Hutch snorted. “’Protect my honor.’” He grinned at the phrase.

“Right. So I should get somethin’ for buyin’ your freedom. Agreed?”

“All right, yes, that’s fair,” said Hutch, his eyes on the road.

“Okay.” Starsky gave a satisfied nod. “I got just one thing for you to do.”

“Hm? What’s that?” Hutch glanced over at him.

“Eyes on the road.” Starsky pointed.

Hutch obeyed. “Okay. What’s the one thing?” He was starting to get a wary note in his voice.

“Oh, it’s nothin’ too bad. You’ll see, Hutch.”

“Starsk…”

“I’ll tell ya when ya drop me off.” _ Because if I tell you now… _

A few minutes later, Hutch pulled up at Starsky’s place. “All right, you’re here. Now what is it?”

Starsky slammed the heavy, rusty door and grinned at Hutch through the still-open window. “Clean out this car.”

Hutch boggled. “Clean— What?! That’ll take more than two hours…!”

“Then you better get started.” Starsky grinned, waggled his eyebrows, and sauntered off.

Hutch would do it. He’d promised. And Starsky would come over and help him—after he left Hutch some time to calm down, of course. _ This’ll teach him to sign up for charity auctions! _

He glanced out the window a minute later, to the sound of Hutch’s car peeling away. He grinned to himself, and went to the fridge to get some snacks. It was going to be a lot of work, cleaning out that monstrosity. The back seat alone was ridiculous; the trunk was a no-man’s land.

Starsky took his time packing some refreshments into a cooler. He paused before heading out, and slipped the receipt out of his pocket. If he left it there, it would just get crumpled, and probably wet, if they washed Hutch’s car. (Hutch was dangerous with a garden hose in his hands!) And Starsky didn’t want to lose this little slip of paper.

He unfolded it, smoothed it out, and grinned at what it said.

_ David Starsky, 300 dollars. Purchase: Ken Hutchinson. _

Maybe he would frame it. He didn’t need the proof—Hutch was, and always would be, his partner, buddy, responsibility, and friend. But it would annoy the hell out of Hutch.

Starsky grinned and headed out the door, cooler in hand, whistling.

<<<>>>


End file.
